The Others

by Jay Allan

  “Alright, I think that’s enough.” He was still looking at his scanner as he spoke into the comm. “The system looks clear.” Unsurprisingly, Stockton was a huge believer in supplementing capital ship scans with scouting flights, but he was enough of a veteran to realize that if the Hegemony—or anyone else—wanted to hide badly enough, his people could fly right past without picking them up. Solar systems had too many gas clouds and asteroids and planets to hide behind, too much radiation and particulate matter to allow complete confidence in any scanning or scouting effort.

  He listened as the acknowledgements came in, six in total. Half a dozen squadrons was a far larger force than he’d needed for the mission, but he was doing all he could to keep his people sharp, to get them out into their fighters before their combat reflexes atrophied entirely. Stockton had craved peace his entire life, part of him had, at least. The other side saw it mostly as a mirage, a deception that eroded his pilots’ readiness, and left them unprepared for the inevitable resumption of hostilities. Stockton could imagine a universe without war—as a fantasy—but he didn’t believe it was possible.

  There was something else bothering him, eating away, something he hadn’t even shared with Stara. Most of the fleet’s spacers were edgy, concerned to some extent that they were heading into a Hegemony trap, or perhaps worse, that their recent enemies did have a new adversary, one that threatened the Rim as well. But Stockton had gone beyond mere jitters. He was utterly certain the task force was heading into battle. He wasn’t sure who the enemy would be. He didn’t discount Hegemony treachery…but he didn’t expect it either. The enemy’s actions, especially their surrender of Colossus, had mostly convinced him of the legitimacy of the unknown threat. He was grim enough at the prospect of throwing his squadrons back into the meatgrinder against the Hegemony.

  The thought of sending them against an enemy that outmatched—that terrified—the Hegemony, made his stomach heave.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Planet Calpharon

  Sigma Nordlin IV

  Year of Renewal 267 (322 AC)

  “No, not you. I’m going to send someone…”

  “More expendable?” Ilius interrupted Chronos. The two were close friends, but Ilius usually showed the higher-ranked Master and superior officer the formality his position demanded, certainly when discussing military matters. But this time he disagreed with his friend, and he was determined to fight it out until Chronos saw it his way.

  “Yes,” Chronos snapped back, after a short pause. “If you must put it that way, I can’t lose you now, not with the fight that is coming.”

  “But we need to test the new scanners, and we need reliable data.”

  “Surely, you are not suggesting you’re the only capable officer in the navy?”

  “No, of course not. But this isn’t a normal mission. It’s…”

  “Suicide?” Chronos took his turn interrupting.

  “Dangerous.”

  Chronos stared at Ilius. “What battle isn’t dangerous? This is more than that, and you know it. We can’t afford to risk any more ships than necessary, just enough to close and get off a number of volleys…to see if Tragus’s theory is valid. How many of those ships do you think will escape?”

  Ilius didn’t answer.

  “Exactly. Helas volunteered as well, and I refused her, too. We’re going to have a fight, my friend, a big one, and at long odds, even if these scanners work. That will be somewhere near here…it may even be here, at Calpharon. It will be a battle we cannot lose, and when it comes, I will need you there. I will need Helas, too.”

  “So, you’re going to send someone you don’t need to determine if the new scanners work?”

  “Stop it. I understand why you want to go, why you feel you have to go. Why Helas felt she had to go. But there is no place now for guilt, for wild gestures. This isn’t the war on the Rim. We’re fighting for our lives here, for the existence of the Hegemony. For the very survival of humanity. You’re a Hegemony Master, one of the most capable people ever born. Act like it.”

  Ilius was surprised at just how hard-hitting Chronos’s words had been. They were nothing but pure truth, but the part of him that rebelled against his hard intellect, against cold analysis, still craved to go, to see the deed done himself. To face the enemy that had killed so many of his people.

  “I’ll take your lack of a response as acquiescence.” A pause. “I considered sending Tragus—he volunteered as well—but I don’t think it’s wise to risk an officer who may very well be the first true hero of the war. So, I decided to send Krellos.”

  “Krellos?” There was surprise in Ilius’s voice, bordering on shock. “But he’s been retired since before the Rim war began. He’s nearly…”

  “Yes, he’s old…and he’s been inactive for a considerable time. But his career record is spotless, and he volunteered, most forcefully, to return to service.”

  “I don’t doubt his abilities, Chronos, but…” The words tailed off. Ilius wanted to go, felt he had to go…but that was all emotional nonsense, and his intellect was slowly reasserting itself. He didn’t have the right to get himself killed before the Hegemony mounted a real effort to stop the enemy. If he’d developed a deathwish of some kind, he had no doubt the Others would accommodate him wherever he faced them. His duty was clear. He knew he couldn’t lead the expedition. But that didn’t quiet the voices inside.

  “Krellos is well aware of the danger, of the…difficulties the force will face to escape. He is near the end of his lifespan, and he knows he has neither the strength nor the endurance to command forces is a protracted conflict. He is prepared to accept the sacrifice if that is his fate, and sending him allows us both to entrust the vital mission to a reliable commander and not to risk an officer we need in the war.” There was a cold, brutal logic to Chronos’s words, and Ilius found himself nodding. Logic was almost sacred in the Hegemony, the victory of intellect over pointless emotion.

  Such things had always made sense to him, but sending an old man, one who had served the Hegemony well, to his death, left him feeling…something he had never felt before. Lost? Uncertain? He wasn’t sure. But he slammed back, driving it all someplace deep in his mind. Nothing mattered but defeating the Others.

  Nothing.

  He’d just pushed aside his doubts, for the moment, when a voice blared through the comm unit.

  Master Chronos, Master Ilius…the scanners at the system’s outer marker have detected incoming ships, approximately sixty in number.

  Ilius felt a tightness inside, and he struggled to suck in his next breath. For a brief, terrifying few seconds, he believed the Others had come, that somehow they had already reached Calpharon. That was impossible, he knew, but that knowledge did nothing to stop the fear.

  Until the voice on the comm continued.

  “They are broadcasting identification beacons and a communique. They are Confederation vessels, Commander, and they are requesting permission to approach Calpharon.

  * * *

  Tyler Barron sat on Dauntless’s bridge, silent at his station next to Travis’s. He’d commanded the White Fleet, been on the bridge when that force had plunged forward into previously uncharted space and discovered the unexpected existence of humans far from the Rim.

  It had discovered the Hegemony. With tragic consequences.

  But now, he’d come farther than any Confederation fleet ever had. Farther than anyone on the Rim had ventured in more than three centuries. To the very heart of the Hegemony.

  He looked up at the brilliant blue and white sphere, the world that had birthed the Hegemony and its Masters more than two hundred years before. Calpharon was coreward enough that Barron knew almost certainly it had been reduced to a scarred ruin during the Cataclysm. The idyllic globe he saw now was no doubt the result of massive rehabilitation efforts…another reminder that the Hegemony, so recently the enemy, was well beyond the Confederation in most areas of technology.

  “Admiral, we’re re
ceiving a reply. She identifies herself as Akella, First of the Hegemony, President of the Ruling Council.”

  “On speaker, Commander.” Barron knew he should take the comm privately. He had no idea what the Hegemony’s ruler would say, and caution seemed well advised. But his people had come with him, farther than even the White Fleet had gone. If they’d made that journey for no reason—or if it had all been a trap—they deserved to know immediately.

  “I understand I am speaking to Admiral Barron…the famous Admiral Barron. Welcome. I am Akella. I regret that circumstances have, until recently, made us enemies, but I can assure you I have always respected your abilities and accomplishments, even when we were at war.”

  Barron always hated such diplomatic prattle, but Akella’s tone was different from most he’d heard before. Against his better judgment, he found himself believing she was sincere. Barron almost replied, but he stopped himself. Dauntless was lighthours from Calpharon, and the words he was hearing had been spoken nearly one hundred eighty minutes before. He’d expected to hear from some duty officer, presumably authorizing Dauntless, at least, if not the whole task force, to approach. He was surprised the first response had come from no one less than the Hegemony’s head of state.

  Was it a show of respect? Or part of the trap?

  “Your ships may approach, Admiral, at your convenience. All system defense forces have been notified of this authorization. I must request that your fleet remain five million kilometers from Calpharon, but Dauntless may enter planetary orbit.”

  Barron felt a sharp reaction, a resentment at Akella’s request—demand?—that the rest of his task force remain some distance from the planet. But it quickly passed. Calpharon was the Hegemony capital, and the two powers had been at war for some time. Barron’s anger flared briefly, the voices in his own head declaring, with some venom, that the Hegemony had started the war. But that faded as well. He didn’t believe the Hegemony had concocted the entire scheme—and surrendered Colossus—just to lure him to Calpharon to kill or capture him. If it had been a trap, there would have been massive Hegemony forces waiting on alert, and his whole fleet, not just Dauntless, would have been destroyed. Though, a quick glance toward Atara’s station told him she was less convinced.

  “Hold comm playback.” Barron’s eyes moved from the communication officer to Atara. “Admiral Travis, the fleet is to advance to a position five million kilometers from Calpharon. Minimum travel time.”

  “Yes, Admiral.” There was a pause, and Barron knew some part of Atara was waiting for him to order the fleet to battlestations, or at least red alert. Just in case. But he was going to disappoint her. He hadn’t come so far just to start another war with the Hegemony.

  He almost followed up that Dauntless would continue alone to Calpharon orbit, but he held his tongue. It would take nearly ten hours for his task force to reach the five million kilometer mark, and he was content to wait until the last minute to invite every officer on the bridge to stare at him with concerned glances.

  * * *

  “You are most welcome, Admiral Barron. Please accept my thanks on behalf of the entire Hegemony.” Barron stood silently as Akella spoke, his thoughts wandering despite his best efforts to focus.

  So, this is the most ‘genetically perfect’ human being in the galaxy? Akella was attractive, though not astonishingly so. Her features were all quite close to generally accepted ideals, and she had a patrician elegance to her mannerisms. Whatever his true thoughts about the Hegemony’s genetic rating system—and he wasn’t quite sure what they were—Barron had no doubt at all about Akella’s intellect. She was smart, there was no question about that. He wondered if she was truly more intelligent than some of his own comrades.

  “Thank you…Number One?” Barron wasn’t sure of the appropriate protocol, and once again his revulsion for the pomp and pointless nonsense that so infected diplomacy reared its head. To his surprise, his counterpart responded in kind.

  “Yes, Admiral, that is the correct form of address, but let us dispense with it, shall we? We each know something of the other’s culture, but far from everything. Let us scandalize those of ambassadorial inclinations who surround both of us. Please call me Akella.”

  Barron was stunned. He’d hated the Hegemony for years, despised the Masters as something very much like evil overlords. But he found himself liking this Akella, despite the fact that she was the highest-ranking of all the Masters. She was certainly the least pompous head of state he’d ever met, though he wasn’t sure that was quite a fair comparison where Vian Tulus was concerned. The Imperator was Palatian, after all, and certain allowances had to be made, at least for wild boasting about past battles.

  “Thank you, Akella…and I am Tyler.” He felt somehow…dirty…for being familiar with her, for seeing her as a human being, for liking her. There were just too many ghosts for him to allow for such thoughts, at least not without a healthy shot of guilt. Don’t forget…whatever she seems like, this woman had to approve the invasion. The Hegemony’s forces could not have attacked without her consent…

  “Thank you, Tyler.” A pause, brief but noticeable. Then, she waved her arms toward the various assembled Hegemony officials, and almost immediately after, to the line of Kriegeri guards standing three meters behind her. “Go, please, all of you. I would speak with Admiral Barron alone.” There was some hesitation, among the most pompous looking of the dignitaries, and even more the Kriegeri. But Akella gestured again, with a level of aggression that surprised Barron, given the pleasant nature she’d displayed to that point. The others began to disperse, filing out through the three doors on the far wall. Finally, the Kriegeri followed, clearly reluctant to leave their leader unprotected in the presence of what they no doubt still perceived as an enemy, but even more unwilling to directly disobey her.

  Barron turned toward his two aides. He’d almost gotten into a rare shouting match with Atara over his refusal to bring a Marine escort with him. She’d had a full platoon, armed and armored and ready to go, but he’d sent them away. He understood her impulse, and her concern for his safety, but he’d seen the absurdity of it, too. He’d been about to shuttle down to the enemy’s capital city. No forty Marines ever made could have done a thing to save him if the Hegemony authorities wanted him dead. They could only have increased tensions.

  “Wait for me outside,” he said softly to the two aides. They looked as reluctant as Akella’s Kriegeri had…and as unwilling to refuse their leader’s order. They followed the Hegemony personnel out.

  When the doors closed, Akella gestured toward two chairs facing each other at angles. “Please, Tyler, have a seat.”

  Barron walked toward the chairs, and he sat in one, watching as Akella took the other. There was a silence, not all that protracted, though it felt long to Barron. Then Akella spoke. “Tyler, I believe you are a direct man, and I like to think I am not one to pointlessly waste time, nor to shy from difficult subjects. It is only natural that you mistrust me…all of my people, that you likely despise we of the Hegemony and all we stand for. Such is an inevitable side effect of war. I could spend hours trying to explain my people, our creed and our sacred purpose, but that would be to no avail. Let us simply acknowledge that for all the loss and sacrifice of the recent conflict, it should be evident that we sought, where possible, to minimize civilian losses. We were an invader to you, Tyler, but we did not come to destroy your people, nor, as I doubt you yet fully believe, to enslave them. Our system is different from yours, born perhaps of our proximity to a section of the galaxy far more severely damaged in the Great Death, what your people call the Cataclysm. Our duty, as we see it, at least, is to unite all humanity, and to protect them…from the mistakes that have been made in the past, from the rule of deeply flawed and dishonest leaders. That is what we sought to bring to the Rim, and though I know you will not agree or accept my explanation, I felt you should at least hear it from me.”

  Barron took a deep breath, as much to keep himself from
lashing out with any rash or unhelpful remarks as anything. “Akella, you are correct that our peoples see many things, the recent war included, from sharply divergent points of view. To us, nothing is as precious as our independence.” Barron knew that was only partially true. It was certainly how he felt, but he didn’t want to guess at what percentage of the Confederation’s population would readily trade their freedom for shaky promises of safety and a modicum of prosperity. “I will, however, accede to your points about the limited nature of the war that was conducted. Our military forces suffered grievously, but save for Megara and the other places that saw protracted ground fighting, damage to planetary surfaces was minimal, and losses among the populations restrained.” He found it difficult to speak the words, though he knew they were true. The losses he’d suffered—friends and comrades killed, many while carrying out his orders—were too fresh, still far too painful to be washed away by some amorphous gratitude that billions of civilians hadn’t been nuked into oblivion as well.

  Barron thought he caught an uncomfortable look on Akella’s face, but it vanished before he could get a good read. Had it been regret, guilt? He didn’t know. The Hegemony’s leader was proving to possess impressive self-discipline. In spite of his anger and resentment, Barron found himself liking her more and more.

  “I could try to convince you of the utility of our cause, the reasons why we have endeavored to…absorb…other human populations into the Hegemony. I could allow you to speak with Arbeiter and Kriegeri who would attest to the improvements in their cultures and living standards since they were brought into the Hegemony. But I do not believe such efforts would materially change your mind, certainly not in a reasonable period of time. My read is you are a stubborn man, Tyler, close to immovable when you truly believe something. I do not ask you to agree with my beliefs, with those of my people. I simply ask you to see that the goal, safeguarding humanity’s remnants, is not an evil one at its core, and to allow that others, myself included, are as resolute as you in such things.”